


The Beast of Kirkwall

by BurningMartian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 18:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12563512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningMartian/pseuds/BurningMartian
Summary: A deranged killer haunts the streets of Kirkwall... But what may be even more shocking is their true identity..





	The Beast of Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the Dragon Age Art/Fic exchange for /u/strp.

"Reap what you sow! Change or die!"

"Alistair! What's gotten into you?"

Warden Commander Ashwen Tabris fought Alistair off herself, who was clawing at her face desperately.

"Reap what you sow!"

He had her in a stranglehold. He was heavier than her.

She pulled a dagger from her sleeve and plunged it into his skull.

Alistair, or whatever this abomination was, refused to stay dead.

"Change or die-" it's voice cut off with one final gurgle as Ashwen ran her blade across his throat. She was very close to tears now. She had just killed a very dear friend.

Of course, he wasn't dead yet.

It climbed back up with a gurgle, a confused look in it's dazed eyes, and flung itself off the window of the inn Ashwen had chosen to spend the night at, falling into the crashing waves below.

Ashwen looked out of the window. No corpse. The sea had washed it away.

Whatever that thing had been, it was definitely not Alistair.

"Well, shit."

*Back in Kirkwall

Varric was definitely not cut out for this advisor position. Even without all of Hawke's teasing, it didn't take a genius to figure that out.

His desk was piled with files too mundane to entertain for the moment. He had bigger problems. A serial killer had apparently taken to stalking Lowtown in the small hours of night. Might as well be an abomination, with how gruesome some of his victims were.

Hawke had offered her help on the matter, but he'd shooed her out of the office. The last time she had crossed paths with a serial killer were some of the sourest memories Varric had. No point in dragging her into yet another mess.

Hawke had struck up a friendship with the Inquisitor, Ruah Lavellan, who stayed at the estate Varric had gifted her at Kirkwall, Blackwall in tow. It was based on shared experiences. Varric called them the "Done with All This Shit" club.

Avelline strode into his office, wearing a frown. Avelline perpetually wore a frown these days.

Varric sighed. He knew what this was all about. Avelline had often emphasised that Varric hadn't been doing enough about the murderer running loose.

"I know what this is about, Captain."

"Oh, that's a relief. I was afraid I was going to have to repeat myself for the millionth time!"

"I know you think I'm not trying enough. I also know that 'trying enough' in your book means dragging Hawke off to trawl about in the bloody gutters of Lowtown. And I'm not going to be the one who drags her back into this shit, for the umpteenth time, might I add!"

Avelline's face softened. Progress. 

"I know you feel guilty about all that has happened, but Hawke lives in Kirkwall too. The murderer is as much a threat to her and Inquisitor-"

"Ex-Inquisitor."

"-as to anyone else." Avelline finished in an exasperated tone.

Varric sighed, but would not budge. "Trust me to handle this my way, Avelline. Now come, it's dark and Marian has probably dozed off at Ruah's place."

As they walked towards the residence, they found Hawke and Ruah strolling through the gallows, Blackwall in tow. Probably admiring the view.

They greeted each other and stopped to chat. Perhaps they really should have moved back to the estate because that was when all hell broke loose.

Fire. The acrid smell of burnt flesh. The screams of the damned.

Standing in the middle of it all, a creature of pure murderous intent.

Ruah gasped. "Isn't that-"

"-The King of Ferelden!" Varric was as dumbstruck them all.

The King took one look at them, bared his teeth in snarl, and charged.

Besides Avelline, none of the group were armed. 

Shit.

Hawke hurled herself forward and erected a forcefield to stop him in his tracks. The king waded through it as if it weren't even there, and in a blinding flash of light, Hawke had been driven to her knees.

Oh. Templar. Right.

Avelline, however, was more effective than any forcefield. She matched the charge with her own. Their clash was ear-splittingly loud.

Then Avelline was driven back.

That didn't happen. Ever.

Not good. Most definitely not good.

But Hawke had recovered by then, and froze the Earth under Alistair's feet. He slipped and fell face first. Avelline reacted instantly and severed his neck.

They stared dumbstruck for a moment. "Did I just kill the King of Ferelden?" Avelline managed to speak, in a choked whisper.

Turns out, not quite.

The severed head opened it's mouth and shrieked. "Reap what you sow! Change or die!"

Ruah shrieked and kicked the head away, before Blackwall stepped in front of her, to shield her, from... whatever this thing was.

The head continued chanting maniacally. "Reap what you sow! Change or die!"

Then an arrow whistle past them and embedded itself into it's eye socket. The arrowhead was aflame, and soon, the head was consumed in fire.

The group turned around to see a lithe female figure and a larger male one, shrouded in hoods, walking towards them. The female had a griffon emblazoned on the light armour she wore.

The female threw her head back. An elf, without markings on her face. From the city, then.

And the male turned out to be a tall blonde-

"King Alistair!" Varric exclaimed, as the rest of them drew back and readied themselves for a fight.

"Easy now, I'm not looking for a fight." Alistair said in a light voice, though his face was clearly troubled. "I am not... well, whatever that creature was supposed to be."

Varric reassured them, "Relax. This is the King of Ferelden we're talking about here. If he was about to go crazy axe murderer on us, I think he'd definitely serve up a warning first, right?"

"Oh definitely, count on it."

Avelline sighed and interrupted, "Not to be disrespectful, your majesty, but pardon us for being a little confused after being attacked by you mere moments ago."

Alistair sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "As I've been saying and as you can clearly see, that wasn't me." He traced a scar along his jawline, fresh, by the looks of it. "In fact, I've been paid a visit by these.. admittedly rather handsome creatures myself."

"And who is this companion of yours?" Ruah asked him.

"Oh, where are my manners Inquisitor. Allow me to introduce Warden Commander Ashwen Tabris, otherwise known as-"

"The Hero of Ferelden!" Hawke cut in, as she moved to shake the elf's hand. "I've long wanted to meet the legend myself."

Ashwen returned a nod. "I only regret not being able to save your Lothering before the Blight consumed it. But I hear you've made something of yourself too, Champion of Kirkwall."

Hawke sighed, the memories of Lothering returning in a painful flash. "Not a title I use anymore. You may call me Hawke."

"Of course."

Varric cut in. "So it seems we've apprehended our murderer... except, you say there were more of... these? And that is what brought you to Kirkwall?"

Alistair spoke, "This is clearly some abominable weapon born of a blood mage's arsenal. We had the Court mage in Ferelden scry what he could from the remains of the..thing I dispatched. All magical traces lead back to Kirkwall."

Hawke sighed long-sufferingly. "More Maleficarum in Kirkwall. What else is new?"

Varric looked at her uncomfortably. "You don't have to involve yourself, Hawke. Maker knows this isn't your fight."

Hawke gave him a sad little smile. "It became my problem when a zombie king attacked my friends in the middle of the evening in the city. You don't get to keep me away on this one, Varric."

Ruah chimed in. "Of course I'm coming along too."

"Absolutely not!" Blackwall, thus far silent, spoke up. "You have lost your dominant arm, Ruah, and-"

"And what? Do not treat me as a cripple, Thom! I am still a hunter of the Dales, not some child to be fussed over. Besides, I wager none here have the skill at tracking that I do. You will need me to find this maleficar."

Ashwen nearly laughed at the helplessly conflicted look on Blackwall's face. "I would not press the issue, Ser. Elven women have been known to be stubborn."

Blackwall sighed. "You don't know how true that is, my Lady."

In an hour or so, all of them had gathered near Lowtown, all except Ruah with their weapon of choice. As they walked on, Varric broached the issue that had been plagueing everyone's thoughts.

"Why do these creatures all seem to resemble you?"

"Think about it Varric." Alistair replied.

Varric creased his brow, then drew in a sharp breath. "You think it has something to do with that time we raided that Magister's lair in search of your father?"

"Undoubtedly." Alistair's voice had taken on a hard edge now. "Maker knows I spilt enough of my own blood at that battlefield. That combined with that tank containing my father's blood... who knows what weapons a skilled Maleficar could concieve."

"And if the King of Ferelden were to kill the sovereigns of his neighbouring kingdoms..."

"It would mean war. And interestingly enough, Ashwen assures me no such attack took place in Tevinter."

Ruah cut in. "Tevinter wouldn't provoke a war at a time like this. Fen'Harel's ignited crisis and the war with Qunari have their hand's full."

"Not all magisters work for the glory of their nation, Inqusitor. Some merely work for their own."

Ruah was leading them around the dingiest parts of Lowtown now. Her claim of being the best tracker had proven to be no idle boast. Very soon, they neared what was clearly the lair of a necromancer. The air was thick with the stench of blood and corpses and decay. It was enough to make several of them gag.

"This is it, Ruah." Blackwall stepped in. "I cannot allow you to go any further."

"Of course. And Thom?"

"Hmm?"

Blackwall was suddenly pulled into a kiss by the former Inquisitor. He turned red as the bystanders chuckled.

"Kick his arse for me."

"Of course, My Lady."

And then they entered the maw of the Beast.

It was pitch black, and only Hawke's conjured wisp allowed them to see what was in front of their faces.

The sights weren't pretty. Piles upon piles of corpses and decomposing flesh, the walls and floor slick, smeared with blood, and besides their footsteps, the only noises to be heard was the constant buzzing of flies.

Then a voice rang out in the darkness. A smooth voice, perfectly modulated. The kind of voice one would associate with a scholar and a gentleman, not with... this.

"So the bastard King of the Dragon blood finally finds his way to me. I wondered how long it would take you."

Alistair shouted into the darkness. "This madness ends today. You will pay for harming my friends wearing my face as a mask!"

The disembodied voice merely laughed. "Your face was merely a beneficial side effect, little King. It was your blood that was important. The sweet nectar, the heady brew of Calenhad's dragon blood and the Warden's poison. It made a more powerful catalyst to my magic than anything you can imagine."

Then magical lights roared to life around the lair. A black maged robe, bald, with a deep greying beard, and a dragon headed staff with rubies inlaid in it's eye sockets, stood upon an elevated platform. And he roared, "And since the fly has so obligingly walked into the spider's web, I will reap the rest of the blood from your veins. Against your will, of course."

Alistair snarled, "Come and try!"

The mage merely raised his hand and sent a gout of flame at the party. Alistair took the brunt of the spell, warding it off with his Templar's ability. Ashwen leapt over the rest of them and fired three arrows at the mage in rapid succession, where they clattered to a halt against his conjured barrier.

Hawke patched what little damage Alistair had taken and trapped the mage in a Glyph of Paralysis, while Blackwall and Alistair moved in for the kill.

The mage proved too powerful to hold in place. He warped the Veil to dance out of the range of their blades, when a bolt from Bianca pierced through his shoulder.

He roared and knocked most of them over, using his blood as a weapon now, but Ashwemn rolled ot of the spell's range and hurled a bulb of acid into the magister's face, where it burned his eyes off.

"NO! I HAVE WORKED FOR THIS FOR TOO LONG! I WILL NOT LET IT END LIKE THIS, YOU PATHETIC WORMS!"

The mage pierced himself again in fear-fuelled desperation, a storm of blood and corpses gathering around him.

Hawke recognised the spell. "Get behind me!" she cried, and erected a brrier between them and the magister.

There was an ear splitting explosion, and a Harvester stood where the mage had been.

"Shit!"

Then Varric and Ashwen ignited their arrowheads and aimed it the creature's skull, while Blackwall, Avelline and Alistair stood at the forefront, trying to keep it from battering their companions down.

The creature ripped it's own arm off, using it as a club to send Blackwall flying across the room, where he bounced off the wall with a crunch.

"NO!" Hawke poured most of her energy at a healing spell and directed it towards him. Blackwall rose groggily to his feet, picked up his shield, and promptly charged the creature again.

It's leg gave way, and it fell.

Alistair leapt on top of it and roared, "You will not harm anyone ever again, Magister! For Ferelden!!"

And he skewered the thing through it's skull.

The group took a deep breath (not too deep, for the lair stank of decayed corpses still) then walked their way out, determined to put the memories of this sordid little affair behind them.

For it was over.

In the debris left over by the fighting, a corpse stirred.

And Alistair's face rose in a hideous, decomposing grin. "Reap what you sow... Change or die!"

It was over... Right?


End file.
